


Last Night on Earth

by edibleflowers



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Frottage, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8863909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: Nothing has changed. Everything is different.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the last night at camp. You know the one. Spoilers for most of the game. The Gladio/Ignis is mostly implied, btw. This is smut, incidentally. Smutty smut smut.
> 
> OH MY GOD MY FEELS. I don't even know what happened to me, but I finished the game and then cried and then this came out. But it's the first thing I've been excited to write in ages, so enjoy. Title's from a U2 song, I know they're on Eos.

Nothing has changed. Everything is different.

The four of them sit in folding chairs around the campfire. It could be just another evening after a long day's travel. The fire crackles between them; two tents are set up off to one side, with Ignis's prep table nearby. (Lack of vision hasn't taken away his ability to put together a delicious meal; if anything, the food is more flavorful than ever. Noctis is so hungry he goes back for thirds.) But none of them have phones to play around on. Gladio stares silently into the fire; Prompto's boot barely twitches against the rock. Ignis sits with his wrists draped over his knees, seeming lost in his own world. And Noctis can't stop scratching the whiskers that grew sometime while he slept in the past decade.

Finally, he manages to get out of his own head enough to stammer a few words. They fought a group of daemons on the way here; despite the years gone by, they swung into motion as a cohesive unit, working together to exploit the creatures' weaknesses, to help each other through the battle when Prompto was injured or Noctis too close to the enemy. It brought back memories Noctis had forgotten. Whether he manages the right things to say, he doesn't know. At least the others seem to get it.

Though there is no daytime anymore, they must keep some semblance of a normal schedule. Gladio's the one to point out they should sleep: "We have a long day ahead," he says, with no sense of irony, and Noctis is somewhat relieved for the words. As he banks the fire, Prompto moves toward one of the tents, Ignis the other. A sharp wave of nostalgia strikes Noctis, and once again he finds himself fighting back tears. How many nights did they stay like this, on the road? (Too many to count. Not enough.)

He steps toward the tent on automatic, then pauses at the tied-open flap. Inside, Prompto's already settling on one of the beds to begin unlacing his boots. He looks up as Noctis ducks his head in, and though his eyes are dark he gives Noctis a brief smile. "What'cha waiting for, a written invitation?"

Noctis lets out a relieved breath, reaching to tug loose the ties of the tent flap. He turns back around and blinks: Prompto's standing before him, jacket dangling from loose fingers.

"Prompto?" Noctis asks, guarded. The jacket falls, and Prompto all but throws himself at Noctis, mouth awkward, urgent against Noctis's. Startled, Noctis brings his arms up around him, for a moment wanting only to make sure they don't go over in a tangle of limbs.

Just as abruptly, Prompto pulls back, his pale, dirt-smudged cheeks red as fire. "I'm suh-sorry--" he starts, and with an effort jerks free, whirling away and dropping his head. His breath hitches hard. Noctis catches a hard inhale in his own throat.

"Prompto," he says, soft.

"I m-missed you so much," Prompto says around a quivering catch in his voice. "I never thought I'd see you again. After you disappeared in the Crystal--" 

Noctis reaches for Prompto's shoulder to turn him around again; Prompto allows it, but doesn't lift his head. "Hey," Noctis says, curling fingers under Prompto's chin -- a little scruff of whiskers there, new to Noctis and somehow fitting Prompto -- and gently nudges his friend to look up.

"Noct," Prompto whispers.

"I missed you too," Noctis admits, before tilting his head to meet Prompto's lips.

The kiss is gentler this time, not nearly as messy, much better for both of them being willing participants. Prompto's hands find Noctis's face, curve back into the mass of his hair (so much longer than Noctis ever wore it, but not for much longer now); Noctis gathers Prompto to him, hands smoothing over the long lean stretch of Prompto's back. Together, they make their way back to the closest bed, shuffling until Prompto lets himself fall back. Noctis follows right after, unable to stand being even a moment away from him.

They'd shared bedspace like this before, once or twice, on nights too cold to tolerate being alone or if some run-down hotel only had two beds to spare for the four of them. Noctis never minded, even though back then he'd been thinking only of Luna and his longing to be near her again; Prompto, jittery-full of energy during the day, slept like a log at night and took up hardly any space.

Now is nothing like then. Now, Prompto's hands move to Noctis's jacket with easy surety, sliding it from his arms and then tugging Noctis down for another kiss. Noctis goes willingly. Prompto is golden beneath him, full of life and the heat Noctis has been missing for longer than he can recall. He pushes up and tugs at his shirt, dragging it off in a hurry; Prompto skins out of his own at the same time, and they fall together again.

A low moan escapes Noctis before he can stop it, feeling Prompto's bare skin against his own. He inhales sharply and looks up, meeting Prompto's eyes, deep blue in the lantern light. "They'll hear us," he mutters.

"Don't care." Prompto angles up for another kiss, agile fingers skimming over Noctis's chest, down, around to his back and up again. "Like they're not doing the same thing--"

Noctis lets go of a breathy laugh and lets Prompto tug him down. Prompto has a point; this may be everyone's last night on Eos, and they might as well take what comfort they can in the moment. He shifts as he settles so they're on their sides, facing each other, one knee slid between Prompto's lean thighs so he can press and push and make Prompto moan too. 

It can't be everything he'd wanted. He knows that, logically, in some part of his brain that's still aware of the cool night and thin canvas and narrow camp bed, of the proximity of Gladio and Ignis in the next tent, of the darkness closing in on them. "Wish we could," he starts, and then gives up and goes for Prompto's belt, instead, unthreading it with shaking fingers.

"It's OK," Prompto mutters against his neck, seeming to get it. He lets Noctis undo the belt and jeans, lifting his hips to make tugging them down easier. Before he can even finish undressing, Noctis pushes his hand into Prompto's briefs, rucking down the fabric and revealing an erection that jumps against his wrist. Prompto cries out again, thready, lovely. 

Prompto's hands aren't idle, either; he's shoved both hands into the back of Noctis's pants, grasping eagerly at Noctis's ass, making Noctis gasp and whine. He wants everything, all of it and more. Instead, his fingers close around Prompto's cock and begin to move in a familiar rhythm, as easy as breathing. Prompto arches against him with a moan and the hard line of erection rides against Noctis's belly, shocking him with hunger, need.

Noctis could do this all night; instead he starts to pull back so he can undo his own belt. Thank the gods, Prompto gets there first, hands making quick work of everything that's _in the fucking way right now_ \-- The moment his pants are open, he's pushing them down, squirming all-too-eagerly out of trousers and briefs -- then laughing sudden, rueful and rough. 

"What?" Prompto demands, his voice too hoarse for the word to come out sternly.

"My boots." Noctis can't help it: he drops his head to Prompto's shoulder and lets the shaking laughter overtake him for a moment. "Didn't -- didn't take my boots off before--"

"You ass!" But Prompto's laughing too, warming the space between them as Noctis sits up, tugging at laces and shucking off the boots one by one. He's barely kicked off the second before Prompto's pushing him to the bed again, this time above Noctis, upright and straddling his thighs. Prompto is lean as ever, maybe even more so, knobbly knees and lanky arms and a faint soft scattering of fine blond hair over his chest and down his belly; his cock, hard and reddened, juts readily from a thatching of more of that pale hair. He's paler than he used to be, though Noctis supposes that stands to reason, and when he runs his hands up Prompto's thighs he finds the muscle hard and strong beneath that pale skin. His searching fingers find marks here and there: scars, old and faded, telling of a life lived without him.

"Hey," Prompto says, when Noctis goes still, and folds himself over Noctis to kiss him again. Their bodies line up easily; Noctis gives himself over to Prompto's kisses, to the heat between them, leaping like flame when their cocks come into contact. "That's better," he hears Prompto murmur against his mouth, and slides his hand between them to gather both of them into his curled fist.

They're still not fully undressed -- Noctis noticed Prompto's glove still on, and his pants and briefs hang from one ankle, both of them still in socks -- but he's past the point of caring now, past the point of thinking of anything but Prompto over him, grinding them together, long and narrow and (at least for tonight) finally _his_. No matter what happens tomorrow, he has this now: Prompto, a live wire in his arms, rocking with him to the same desperate end.

He needs more, needs to take over, and so he shifts and rolls them over -- barely enough room for it on the bed, but he manages somehow so that he's over Prompto now, pinning him to the canvas. Prompto's head goes back all at once, his hips stuttering, pushing hard. Noctis inhales, watching his friend now with hungry eyes, hand speeding, needing to see: "Come on, Prompto," he says, urgent, demanding. "Wanna see it, wanna see you come--" And he does, in a glorious mess, sudden wet heat between them that only deepens Noctis's own ratcheting need.

"Y-your turn," Prompto gasps, his hands digging into Noctis's ass again, and that's it, Noctis is gone, head falling, face pressed into Prompto's neck as climax rolls through him in one long wave of white-hot bliss.

He tries to move after, but Prompto keeps a tight hold on him, and so Noctis sags in a boneless pile atop Prompto, skin still shivering, Prompto's sharp collarbone digging into his cheek. "Oh my gods," Prompto mumbles; Noctis laughs low, soft, lifting up for a soft kiss.

"Worth the wait," he says.

Prompto's throat works, but he just nods and kisses Noctis back. "Every minute of it."


End file.
